


Pierrot

by Poltergeistrose



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dark Bruce Wayne, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poltergeistrose/pseuds/Poltergeistrose
Summary: Based on the club scene from Suicide Squad.





	Pierrot

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first fic attempted. Feedback such as better formatting would be appreciated.
> 
> Also the guest/monster t is now sheev.

"We finally meet." A hand extends to greet the pale man in the dark purple suit, hands resting on a gold cane.

"The boss doesn't shake hands." a woman with white face paint standing behind the pale man informs.

"Sit, have a drink." She motions with her head for the guest to sit across from the purple suited man.

"Hey J, welcome back. I wanted to come by and personally say thank you."

Jeremiah half heartedly listens as he watches the stage, where a young man in gold and black tight shorts and black and white face paint pushes another dancer seductively against the wall.

"You're making me good money. I'm making you good money."

Jeremiah rolls his eyes at the guest's words and sighs, "are you sweet talking me?" A light chuckle follows. "I love this guy, he's so intense." He smirks eyeing Ecco behind him.

The guest turns his head towards the stage where the young man is now dancing on a pole. The oddity of it all was that young man used to be Bruce Wayne, billionaire son of the Wayne Foundation. Story goes that he was involved in an incident at Ace Chemicals a few years back in which he fell into a chemical vat and was presumed dead. That was until recent events that it would become known that a very much alive Bruce, however, a very different persona it would seem, had been reported to be working with Jeremiah Valeska. 

He was given a new name fitting for the sidekick of a clown. After Jeremiah had build up his criminal empire, he would further be known as Mr. J, the most powerful presence in Gotham these days. Anyone with half a brain could see that the nature of the relationship between this new man born from the ashes of Bruce and Mr, J went much deeper than a normal working relationship. Anyone could tell you there was this great presence of lust and obsession. The question on most people's mind was, how did things get from point A to B?

Jeremiah is glaring at his quest as the focus turns to the young dancer.

"Oh, there he is." J harshly almost whispers, gesturing toward the stage while maintaining his stone hard glare. His quest's attention is turned back on to Jeremiah.

"The fire of my loins," J slowly stands pivoting his direction to the stage. "The itch in my crotch."  
He gestures as if he is a ring leader announcing the opening act.  
"The one, the only, the infamous, Peirrot!"

Jeremiah's eyes are on the young clown dancer, his gaze turning softer than before, but non the less hungry.

He whistles, and the clown boy's attention is now on the pale man.

The guest, who has turned to quite an anxious demeanor, quickly swallows a sip of his drink.

The boy nearly prances towards the table. An almost feral gleam to his expression.  
"Miah," a giggle escapes between painted lips as he greets his boss.

Jeremiah lightly pats the boy's shoulder as his face draws close to the boy's near his ear, "listen, you are now my quest to this," he turns to gesture to the guest, "handsome hunks hunka." He chuckles  
"You belong to him now."  
Jeremiah guides the boy forward lightly with his back on his hand as his quest expression turned pale.  
Anyone should expect sick games of these sorts from the clown prince of Gotham.

The boy trends over to settle on the guests lap, reaching his arms around his shoulders with a predatory smirk. He draws his face close to his ears, all the while J resets to his hard gleam before on his guest. It's a look, his guest knows, that one would get when something personal is tampered with, he knew all to late that this could only end with his blood spilled. Jeremiah's breathing gets heavy.

"Look, I don't want no beef." His guest pleads uneasily.

"Oh, you don't want no beef?" Jeremiah nearly growls.

"Fine, I won't waste my time then." The boy huffs as he pulls himself off the man's lap.

"He's yours." The guest shakingly tries to assure, in a last ditch effort. Jeremiah chuckles.

"Hm, that's right."

Bang.


End file.
